


In His Sepulchre There By the Sea

by amoralagent



Series: Domesticity and Death [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brutal Murder, Cannibalism Puns, Dark Will Graham, Domesticity, Exhibitionism, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hannibal is Hannibal, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Blood, Murder Husbands, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rainforests, References to Canon, Romanticism, Sarcasm, Summer Love, Swimming Pools, Teasing, Voyeurism, Walks On The Beach, duh - Freeform, kind of???, murderers in love, spearfishing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoralagent/pseuds/amoralagent
Summary: "I could offer you better." Hannibal countered, admiring Will's hands when he speared a slice of meat with the plastic fork: "I guarantee that your taste would be... divine." He offered, voice thickened by his accent.Will gave him a flat expression, like he didn't know what he was talking about, "Is it not already?"They spend time in Indonesia. They do things both husbands and murderers usually do.





	In His Sepulchre There By the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue inspired by The Danish Girl.
> 
> Title: Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

Their house in Bali was a private villa, cut off from any neighbours, spacious and bright- it felt cozily sheltered, and completely secluded for the two of them to share. The large pool overlooked the rainforest, cold water like impasto blue paint, outlined by the huge flats of leaves and feathery trees all around. Birds chased flies, singing loudly, parrots cawing. The backdrop of the mountains was serenely beautiful, especially on the misty days where the clouds hung low on the air, and made everything look blurred or obscured, suspicious, yet gorgeous in it's ambiguity.

Almost every morning they enjoyed yellow Jamu, a traditional recipe that they'd made part of their morning routine. They'd enjoyed it languidly with breakfast, and coconut water or coffee- Will would have it in bed despite Hannibal's distaste. The sunlight would always dip through the large windows to dissect his naked body in the morning, blinding him. It would do the same to the glass tumblers left on the table, bounce back off the surface of the pool, and making them cast soupy lights up the walls.

On the sweltering hot days, Hannibal would do laps of the pool and Will would sit under the veranda to watch him, basking in the shade, and often falling asleep to the sound of water. If he was conscious to see Hannibal climb out, it would take all his willpower to not pounce on him- the way the droplets stuck to his tanned skin, and broad chest, the hair there. Will dreamed about that sometimes, and woke up in cold sweats and the need to change his underwear.

When he did snooze, he'd be roused again with a cooled, damp palm pressed to his warm forehead, or down the line of his neck. He no longer flinched at those touches, and leant up for a heated kiss in response.

Swimming wasn't something Will ever had the inclination to enjoy, especially not with his temperamental shoulder. Now and again though, he'd sit on the side of the pool with his trousers bunched up around his knees, nursing a iced whiskey, and smile when Hannibal finished his final stroke and sidle up between his thighs. Water in the shape of hands soaking through his clothes.

Hannibal would buy strange fruits, from the markets laden with their bright signs against neutral wood and stone, and prepare dishes with fresh melons and cured meats for the middle of the day. He'd taken up beekeeping too, just one hive at the back of the property near to the water tank. Honey made fresh the previous day was utterly sublime, and completely underrated. Still, Will couldn't help but shiver when he saw raw honeycomb, imagining it being scooped out of a brain cavity through the eye socket. Bees flying in and out of a corpses mouth.

To keep himself occupied, Will procured a job repairing fishing boats. He stayed away from the ham-fisted tourism areas, or the docks and beaches that were swarmed by American visitors wanting to go fly-fishing and scuba-diving. It lowered the risk of being recognised, and he was sick of their sounded-out, patronising English, and meaty red faces beaded with sweat.

The locals he helped fix the boats and jukungs for returned his labour with education when he refused to take their money. He learnt how to spearfish, and the intricacies of making traditional bamboo woven fish traps. They taught him very basic Balinese, too.

When the hot weather hit it's peak, Will spent the day helping to paint the wood of the boats. Hannibal had stayed at home, content with reading, and drawing whatever he pleased (Will) and biding his quiet time alone.

Will had originally said he wouldn't be back until later that evening, but the door flew open with a thwack in the early afternoon, he grumbled a greeting and walked straight past Hannibal to sulk off upstairs without a word.

Merely five minutes later, Hannibal heard footsteps descending the stairs, a heavy sigh, and out of nowhere Will's hand cupped his cheekbone to tilt his head back and kiss him hello. He then slumped over the back of Hannibal's shoulders, arms around his neck, and breathed in his scent under his jaw. Hannibal bought a hand up to intertwine their fingers. He turned over his palm and looked down to find a bandage, "You're hurt."

"I could've nailed myself to the boat. Would've been comical." Will quipped, placing a kiss to below Hannibal's ear. It received a soft sigh.

"How was your day?"

"Tiring. I spent it telling everyone how much I love you."

The waves roared loud and roiling at the coast, and reared up to wash away any little crabs that had been turned a dirty maroon colour with the change of skies. It bought algae and seaweed right up to lay between his feet like a sacrifice, and Will held wet rocks in his hands as he skimmed them over the placid, shivering surface. Rock pools were circled by sea-snails and limpets, barnacles, tiny fish that blended in with the dampened sand. On stormy days, the air would be unbreathable and bitter, cormorants and terns dancing precariously just below the greying clouds.

They visited the sea together on numerous occasions, none of which Will particularly enjoyed. He'd grown disdainful of the ocean- how it had failed to do his bidding, and instead left them both with salted lungs and bones sticking out like pin cushions.

He was as thankful as he was resentful- a vitriolic mix of emotions.

Hannibal loomed behind him like a shadow, or curled around him when he sat between his legs on the beach, waxing poetry about their return from the Atlantic as if it was some mythological occurrence. An afterbirth.

Will would fiddle with Hannibal's wedding ring, or find his footprints in the sand and cautiously step into them.

During the cooler days of summer, they made trips to see the marketplaces and welcoming villages deeper into the rainforest. They briefly visited the Dawan Klod plantations, and Will watched on, awestruck, as people with bare feet and empty hands climbed trees with superhuman agility, collecting their palm sugar with a sharp machete.

"One strong breeze and the fall could kill them." Will said, suggestive, only loud enough for Hannibal to hear. He smiled.

Hannibal paid the merchant graciously, and the flavour was like nothing Will had ever tried before; Hannibal later made saffron syrup that was like nectar, and he kissed the taste off his lips.

They bought various herbs and spices from pop-up cafes and dealerships, bicycles and old cars lining the streets, roofed by overarching palm trees and the buzz of the jungle beyond. Parakeets were kept in bamboo cages outside a store, and Will abstractedly recalled the image of crushing one under his foot. He sparsely wondered where Hannibal had gotten those Ortolans from, before. Instead of freeing or frightening them, he gave them some of the cooked watermelon seeds he was chewing on, and listened to them chirp and chatter.

When they got back home, the sun had begun casting golden rays that shimmered on the forests greenery, and sloped in past the curtains. The sunsets scattered the clouds and turned them lilac, or blazing orange, burning hot and glamorous on the horizon. Will, caught tired and a little off his guard, gave in to letting Hannibal draw him properly, from life. He got restless pretty quickly, spread out on the sprawl of bed linen under Hannibal's dark gaze, warmed by the glorious sun.

Eventually, he took to closing his eyes and imagining the most gruesome crime scenes he'd been witness to, thinking of anything to forbid his stirring arousal ebbing heat at the pit of his stomach. The crime scenes didn't halt anything. He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, as if he was resting, and placed his hand on his stomach scar experimentally. Hannibal disregarded it to keep drawing. So he felt lower, and the sound of the pencil scratching stopped.

Enrapt, Hannibal watched on to see the arch of his spine, and his gasps, and the fragile uttering of his name over and over, the flexing of his bared thighs. The sounds from him deep and delicious. His spare hand twisted in the sheets. It didn't take long for the drawing to be forgotten, and Hannibal was on him like an animal when pleasure wracked his frame, crying out and spilling over himself, only to be taken again.

At night, the island was an altogether different beast. Crickets and mosquitos provided the soundtrack to the wind, rustling amongst leaves and twigs. The static nightlife bled fast and warm, people emerging like nocturnal creatures to inhabit their stalls and bars and stores. Suddenly, there were people everywhere.

Motorbikes were parked along every dirt road, the occasional moped zipping past. Homeless people sat on the edges of the streets, scrounging for offcuts and leftovers in polystyrene containers. Wasps and flying beetles flitted around olives, and stinking goats cheese, circling and frenzied around the lanterns.

The darkness hummed with insects.

Will took Hannibal's hand and followed the sweet-smelling steam to find a barbecue on grill, succulent meats of lamb and pork dripping as they were turned over on the skillet. A man barged past Will's shoulder, and Hannibal took note of his face.

Will ate, and Hannibal watched, off to the side on a table under the trees: "It's good. You should try it."

Impatiently, Will raised his brows, and Hannibal relented, swiping a finger through the sauce on the side of the box, and closing his lips around it. Only Will noticed his subtle curl of his lips in disgust, and he chuckled at him: "I could offer you better." Hannibal countered, admiring Will's hands when he speared a slice of meat with the plastic fork: "I guarantee that your taste would be... divine." He offered, voice thickened by his accent.

Will gave him a flat expression, like he didn't know what he was talking about, "Is it not already?"

"Very much so." Hannibal replied carefully, stoic, but almost rolling his eyes. Will bit back a smile.

After quite a lot of lingering around the area, and ludicrously shameless flirting, Hannibal recognised the same man from earlier at one of the food stalls. His shift in attention drew Will's gaze to who he was looking at, and he knew. With a shared look of acknowledgement, Will moved off, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and disappearing down the street, blending in with the misshapen form of the trees in the dark. Slowly, Hannibal stalked the man past the crowds. He could scent the air and know where Will had gone, as a bloodhound would.

Affectless, he carried on after the man, and as they he went to walk past a small stone cottage, no lights inside, Will grabbed the stranger by the front of his coat and swung him around to slam against the far side of the building. His knife glinted in the glow of the dull streetlight.

The wall was coated in the man's blood, black in the low light, the body sat unceremoniously in the centre. Red framed him, all-encompassing, like he'd been attacked by an animal. Will had arterial spray across his face, his hands dripping with it. There was danger in the curve of his shoulders.

Hannibal put his hand on Will's chest to steady him, and he folded himself into an embrace. He backed Will against the wall, allowing him to listen to his startlingly steady heartbeat until he fully calmed.

The following morning, Hannibal bought their breakfast to their sun-drowned bedroom, placing the tray by Will's bedside, and climbed back into bed to wake him up with open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder blades. He moved down his spine low enough to be suspicious, punctuated with the brush of his sharp teeth. Will hummed lowly, like a cat purring. The hair at the nape on his neck standing pleasantly on end.

"Hannibal, if you carry on, the food will go cold."

They dined on sausage and eggs, the empyreal light holding dancing motes of dust in the air.


End file.
